


a million reasons why (i'm not okay)

by mint_choco_icecream



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cuddling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mention of blood, Panic Attacks, Pining, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, na jaemin is not okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mint_choco_icecream/pseuds/mint_choco_icecream
Summary: And Jaemin had promised him, voice cracking with exhaustion, eyes puffy and burning from crying, but heart aching with desperation. And he'd been so certain that he meant it, so certain that he could get better.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. where it didn't start

**Author's Note:**

> hi ^-^  
>  **please be mindful of the tags, i'm not tagging the beginning of every chapter because it will be repeated. if i left out any tags above, please let me know.**
> 
> [i did already complete this work last year, but it got deleted when i changed accounts so i just wanted to re-write it. i want to make it a little longer and add in a couple scenes in between as well, so it won't be exactly the same]
> 
> enjoy <3

Thinking back, it’s almost too difficult to pinpoint the exact moment everything started going wrong again. It's a blur; the messy, almost inevitable climax of words and thoughts and failures and guilt, that had just proven to be too much for him to handle. 

But if Jaemin _had_ to guess when everything started, maybe it had been when he found himself shutting out people again- slamming his door closed or shoving in headphones, insides reeling with the guilt of a half-finished conversation and the hurt face of the person he had been speaking to staring back at him, eyes pleading. Because even for them, it was really too easy to tell when Jaemin wasn’t alright. 

Or maybe it had all started when Jaemin searched the dorms for a little stool, hesitantly tried his weight on it’s unsteady legs, and pulled his razor from where he had banished it to the top of his cupboards. _Never again,_ he had promised himself, chest heaving and mind fierce with determination.

But that had been exactly four months and three days ago, and maybe Jaemin simply wasn’t strong enough. So he ran the sharp blade against the inside of his thumb, a gentle, whisper of a touch, only deep enough to leave a faint impression. And with labored breaths, he just tucked the blade between the pages of his blank journal instead, wondering how much longer his resolve would last. 

Or maybe it had all started even further back, before they had debuted. Because even before Jaemin was met with the full brunt of harsh criticism from his managers and producers and fans and haters, even before all of that, he was met with criticism from himself. 

Because he had taught himself to believe that he wasn’t enough, he had forced himself to never be happy- never be content with his work and his efforts. Because there was always room for improvement. Because he was the one that chose this path; he knew what was waiting for him, and still, with hesitant determination and boundless fear, he had decided to pursue his dreams. 

But years later, Jaemin finally realizes that it doesn’t matter exactly how everything started. It doesn’t matter that it took months of sleepless nights and scorching tears, it doesn’t matter that he tried and tried to hold himself together, to not give in to the numb relief that was awaiting just a flowing, aching red river away.

Because all that matters is that it is his fault, not anyone else’s. All that matters is that however it had all begun, it _had not_ started with an argument with Huang Renjun, no matter what the other boy had managed to convince himself. 

.

It doesn’t start like this.

It’s a long day, because they all are, and Jaemin feels fatigue draining every single muscle in his body, drawing out his energy to leave him entirely exhausted. His joints ache with a dull throbbing from the hours of dance practice and sitting cramped into the van on his way between schedules.

His body has almost gotten accustomed to it; it’s comeback season, after all, but it’s still a welcome relief when they finally get home, stars dotting and glittering in the dark expanse over their heads. Jaemin thinks about bringing out his camera to take a quick shot, but his neck already cramps from looking up for too long. 

As soon as they head up to the dorms, he collapses onto the warm, plush couch in the living room, flopping onto his stomach and letting out a huge breath of air as his body sinks into the soft material and his burning eyes slide shut. 

Jaemin knows he should just head straight to bed and get some real rest; it’s already after ten, and though he can’t remember the schedule for the next day, he’s certain it must be packed. But it’s the kind of painful exhaustion, the kind that has your mind racing and throbbing and not slowing down, the kind of exhaustion that you can’t just sleep off. 

So Jaemin stays, body draped uncomfortably off the couch, nimble fingers moving automatically as he plays some random game he’d seen in an ad and downloaded on a whim. At the very least, the monotony of the game is able to distract his tired mind from his thoughts and he finds himself overly invested in trying to stack little squares over one another. 

Chenle stays with him a while, trying to convince him to play PUBG on a team with him, even though they both know Jaemin sucks. He likes it, but he’s simply not good at it, so he stopped playing. Maybe Chenle had picked up on Jaemin’s mood; he and Jisung have always been crazy good at reading people’s hidden emotions and unspoken words. And despite this, they somehow manage to be almost entirely oblivious most of the time. 

It makes Jaemin helplessly endeared with them.

But even if Chenle is trying to cheer him up in his own innocent way, Jaemin wishes he could just tell him that he’d rather be on his own. That his presence right next to him: the way his thigh rubs against Jaemin’s, the way his hairs tickle his neck as he rests his head on his shoulder, the way he’s munching on a pack of chips right next to his ear, the way he’s _in his space_ , is just making him annoyed for no reason. 

Normally, he doesn’t mind it; and most times it’s even Jaemin that initiates the skinship.

But it just gets to him sometimes, when he’s been around people all day, when he’s not in the mood, when he just needs to be alone. He gets hypersensitive to every little sound and every little brush of someone else’s skin against his. He gets annoyed, irritable, and he tends to lash out at people to get his way. And right now, it’s one of those times.

“Chenle, could you just give me a little space?” he enunciates carefully, staring forward, unmoving since Chenle’s head is still on his shoulder. Jaemin’s breaths are deep and quick, and he tries to hold his emotions back. Chenle must pick up on Jaemin’s annoyance, the way his voice is so carefully measured to be polite, but somehow the tension he feels still manages to slip into the tiniest of wavers in his pitch.

The “I’m sorry,” is right on the tip of his tongue, but he clenches his jaw shut. He doesn’t want to apologize; he just wants Chenle to leave him alone. 

He rolls his eyes as the other boy leans off his shoulder quickly, looking back at him with his eyes large and worried. Jaemin forces down the acidic guilt building in his throat, and he does his best to ignore the hurt in Chenle’s eyes as he mutters something about how he was just heading to bed anyway as he trudges off, heading to Jaemin and Jisung’s shared room instead of his.

Jaemin’s eyes follow his shadow, waiting until Chenle has completely disappeared behind the closed door, then he waits for a couple seconds more in perfect stillness. 

Just in case.

The air condition unit hums over his head, and Jaemin’s pounding heart overlaps with the mind-numbing vibrations every two seconds. The air is cold, the vents aimed directly on his slouched form, but Jaemin is too anxious to search around for the remote to shut it off.

Deciding finally that the coast is clear, Jaemin leans back against the arms of the couch, resting his head on the side with the wall so no one can sneak up on him. His fingers cramp as he switches tabs, his hands having accustomed themselves to the repeated, non-stop motions when he was playing the game. Trembling just the slightest bit, he logs onto his personal instagram account on a private browser, fingers hovering over the last picture he posted.

_Drowning with the sun,_ he’d captioned the snapshot of the sunset- the sky streaked messily with faded orange as a deep blue raged overhead, circling in on the tiniest bit of light left. 

Jaemin had taken that picture almost a week ago, but between schedules, he’d only squeezed in some time to edit it over the past three days, finally posting it just before they had left earlier for dance practice. Throughout the day, he’d been too overwhelmed with exhaustion, and besides, there was always someone around him anyway. 

His head throbs with anticipation; he just needs to know how his latest project fared against the viewers, so he takes a deep, shaky breath before clicking on the post analysis. 

5 likes. 

It’s not _bad_ ; Jaemin knows he runs a pretty small account, and besides he had only started it a couple weeks back. But he can’t stop the disappointment that blooms, he can’t stop wishing it was just a little more. Maybe if someone had left a comment, he would feel better. Like it was worth something. And besides, his last post had gotten more likes than that in even less time; maybe he shouldn’t have posted this one. Maybe he should have edited it a little more.

His mind is a mess of thoughts, of regretful _what-ifs_ , and he lets out a long, tired sigh, shoulders sagging even further. Because it’s always like this.

Every little thing that he does, he finds himself measuring his worth in other people’s reactions. _Their approval, validation._ And he hates himself for needing it. 

Jaemin isn’t stupid; he knows it’s not healthy, but if he knew how to stop, he would. 

He loves photography, he loves preserving the simple, beautiful moments of his life and tucking them away safely in every corner of his heart; he loves capturing snapshots of things and people that make his days meaningful. It’s fulfilling, looking back on the images sometimes, and re-living the old memories.

But maybe the pictures would mean a little more, if they meant something to other people too. If his photos could resonate with someone in the same way they did with him; if they could understand how special those moments were to him, and if they could love them too. 

Maybe that’s why he gets so disappointed every time he obsessively checks through his analytics and the results aren't what he expected. Sometimes, Jaemin realizes just how in over his head he is. When he searches for other accounts, even as he tells himself to stop- that comparing himself to them is only going to hurt him. But he does it anyway.

_Fuck this,_ Jaemin thinks, closing the tab and instead pulling up his twitter. Maybe he should just go through his feed for a while, maybe he would find something to stop the dull ache in his heart; maybe he would be able to stop the thoughts that try to convince him to just delete his photography account. The thoughts that tell him _it's no good, anyway._

But going through twitter proves to be an even bigger mistake, and Jaemin is so completely engrossed as he scrolls through miles and miles of hate comments with his trembling fingers, he doesn’t even notice when someone enters the room and walks straight up to him.

“Jaemin?” the voice calls, small and almost curious. His gaze flies to the other boy’s face, and he shuts off his phone completely, not having enough time to close the tabs. It’s dark, the little light there is peeks in from the kitchen, gently coloring the surroundings light orange. 

Jaemin’s eyes take a while to get adjusted; his phone screen was as dark as it could go, and somehow that was still never dim enough.

His heart races as he traces his eyes over the features, trying to figure out who is standing before him. Sitting up and swinging his aching legs off the couch, he gets a closer look at the silhouette shrouded in almost perfect darkness. 

But he would know the gentle slope of that nose anywhere, the soft, pouting lips and carefully sculpted jawline. It’s all he can make of the figure, but it’s enough.

“Renjun,” he mumbles, hesitant, standing on shaky legs next to the other boy. He must have seen Jaemin’s face in the light of his phone.

There’s this awkward air between them, almost painfully tense, but not quite. It’s an annoying, nagging sensation, drilling into his mind that something isn’t right between the two of them. That something is disturbing their perfect balance, their uncompromisable trust and unconditional love. 

It must have been there for months, and Jaemin realizes with a start that it’s been a couple weeks already since he’s had a proper conversation with the other boy.

“What are you doing here?” Renjun asks, the same time Jaemin whispers, concerned, “Are you going out now?”

Jaemin doesn’t even know what lie to tell Renjun this time, so he leaves his mouth shut and waits until Renjun answers his question instead. Jaemin's fingers are clutched tight around his phone, holding it hidden behind his back. Renjun must have already seen it, but still, he feels a little better with the phone firmly in his grip.

“Yeah, I’m heading to the WayV dorms. I’ll just spend the night there, and I can leave with them for shooting in the morning,” Renjun replies, voice light and so reasonable that Jaemin almost doesn't feel the pang of hurt in his gut. Almost.

But when the words finally register, Jaemin feels his stomach flip as his eyebrows draw together. Because Renjun isn’t going to be here, and even if they’ve hardly spoken to one another recently, Jaemin knows he has a place in Renjun’s bed whenever he needs it. He leaves the left side empty every single night, no matter how small the bed is, just in case Jaemin needs someone.

It’s not the first time Renjun has spent the night out, not by a long shot. And it’s not the first time Jaemin has wanted to ask him to stay, either. But Renjun is anxious, his fingers fiddling with the strap of the small bag in his hands, and Jaemin wonders for a moment if he regrets coming to speak to him. 

If he wishes he'd just pretended that he'd never seen Jaemin's pathetic frame slouched onto the armchair. If Renjun wishes he'd just left. 

And that thought alone makes Jaemin's heart throb in agony, in _want_ , because maybe that would have been better for the both of them. Maybe that would have saved them from this awkward conversation- words stuck in their chests and nothing but cold, empty air in the space between them.

It makes Jaemin nostalgic for a time when things were easier, when things were better. It makes him wish that Renjun could just read how he was falling apart by the lines of his face and the wavers in his pitch. 

Because it used to be so comfortable, it used to feel so safe to tuck himself against Renjun's side and press his nose into his neck and breathe in his warm, lavender scent. He used to be his little haven away from the world and his mind, but now, Jaemin has practically no one. 

His skull throbs, aches, and Jaemin blames it on the lump constricting his throat, he blames it on the tears prickling behind his eyes, he blames it on the way he's too tired to do anything but break apart. Whatever the reason, he doesn't even try to stop the next sentence from just slipping out.

“Stay.” And it doesn’t come out like Jaemin wants, like he expects: strong and steady. It comes out weak, trembling, barely above a whisper. It comes out vulnerable, pained, broken. A plea more than a command. 

But Renjun’s voice is sharpened by an almost delirious edge when he speaks again, laced with impatience, and for a split second, it makes Jaemin want to take it back.

“Jaemin, please,” Renjun mumbles, but it's tired. Like he's fed up of him, like he just wants a break. "It's just tonight-" he tries to explain, but Jaemin cuts him off.

And the very last thing Jaemin wants to be is a burden. And he _knows_ that he just rejected skinship from Chenle, he knows he’s being annoying and petty and inconsiderate. But right now, he can't find it in himself to care. 

Because Jaemin is so fucking needy, so desperate, because Renjun is the only one who always makes sure to keep his phone far away from him when he’s alone. He always sits next to Jaemin and doesn’t move, because he knows what would happen if he does. He always links their fingers when Jaemin’s nails dig into the raised scars on his thighs, and he always holds him together when he breaks down. 

He’s the only one who _knows._

But Jaemin hasn’t even seen him lately, he hasn’t spoken to him. Ever since the start of NCT 2020, Jaemin has been entirely deprived of Renjun. And he knows Renjun isn’t _his_ , he knows he doesn’t have any sort of claim over him, just as Renjun has no reason to stay. 

But Jaemin stops him anyway. _Selfish_ , his mind sneers at him, and he knows it. And he fucking hates it. 

“It’s not just this time.” Voice nagging and pleading like if he's a fucking five-year old. He hates the way he sounds, but Jaemin can’t help it. He can’t help that he needs him, that he _wants_ him. “I’ve barely seen you in months, Renjun. I’ve barely spoken to you. But you always make time to spend with other people.”

Renjun scoffs then, a harsh, irritated laugh that has Jaemin’s insides reeling. He thinks he deserves it. 

“Well that’s because you’ve been avoiding me,” Renjun argues back simply, and he continues straight over Jaemin’s spluttered protests. “And besides, Jaemin, this is a huge comeback for us. Obviously we aren’t going to be able to spend as much time together.” His hands wave around animatedly as he speaks, drawing sharp, overlapping patterns on the wall with their intermingled shadows.

And Jaemin knows Renjun is making sense, and he knows too that he’s been avoiding him; he just doesn’t want to admit that the stifling tension every time they so much as breathe in each other’s direction is too much for him to handle. But Renjun’s voice is already dropping, already losing all his fire and anger, and melting into something so soft, so gentle, honeyed with concern and warmth.

Because Renjun has always been so unpredictable, flitting between emotions like a butterfly, his intent and mood changing with every single sentence. Jaemin had always been able to keep up, but lately, it's made him go crazy trying to understand the other boy.

Every conversation with Renjun has been strained and draining for the both of them, so he’s just completely avoided him, because maybe it’s better to pretend that they’re fine, instead of confirming that they’re not. Maybe he can just ignore the way it pains him every time their eyes meet, or every time he sees a head of light brown hair silently slipping into the room.

“But, Jaemin, honestly. You’ve been really distant lately. Is everything alright?” 

Soft. Gentle. Kind. And for once, it feels comfortable. It feels like it used to- safe and warm, and it feels like home. 

It's almost surprising, the sudden relief that rushes through his veins, the relief that makes his heart hurt just a little less. Because maybe after everything, they're okay. Maybe he and Renjun can fall back into their familiar, constant rhythm; their push and pull friendship, like nothing ever happened. And Jaemin realizes then, that he can't ask him to stay.

So he just contorts his lips into a smile, and it’s never been so hard to tilt the corners of his lips just a little bit up. Renjun can’t even see it in the darkness, so he drops the pained grimace with a sigh, instead forcing out a soft, “I’m fine, really.”

Jaemin can feel Renjun’s eyes on him, he can feel his mind working to analyze his voice, to figure out if Jaemin is really okay. And Jaemin knows it when Renjun realizes he isn’t, when he starts taking half of a step towards him, arms lifting just slightly from his sides, and Jaemin takes a step back.

Because he can’t do that to Renjun. He can’t guilt him into staying with him. He can’t be a burden on him; not after Renjun is already dressed to go out, not after he’s had an equally draining day as Jaemin, and he just needs a break too. 

So as much as Jaemin wants him to stay, as much as he wants Renjun to just tug him onto his bed and cuddle with him and just talk to him like they used to, he forces his emotions down, clenching his teeth as he feels them fighting against him, demanding to be felt. 

“Go,” he breathes out, and his teeth bite harshly against his lower lip to stop himself from saying anything else. 

The pain is still there, the incessant, dull throbbing in his head and his bones, and Jaemin thinks that maybe he won’t feel so bad if he just takes a little nap or something. He’s just so fucking tired. 

“Go, Renjun,” he insists, and he knows that the other boy feels guilty about leaving him, so he nods into the darkness, urging him on. 

Jaemin steels himself with a deep breath, but his voice is still soft and shaky when he speaks again. “I’ll go to bed now, Renjun. Don’t worry about me. You had a long day too, I’m sure they’re waiting on you.” 

And it’s dark, but the shadows smudge on Renjun’s cheeks as his lips lift into a gentle, hesitant smile. Jaemin can’t find the will to smile back at him, but it’s dark anyway. Maybe he doesn’t notice.

Renjun mumbles a goodbye to him as he turns around and heads to the door, soft footfalls echoing over the dull throbbing of Jaemin’s heartbeat. His fingers find one another, and he picks at the skin around his nails as he just stands there, wondering what to do now. 

.

He doesn’t head to bed, like he promised Renjun; instead he finds himself on the roof, the October air setting a gentle chill in his bones. Jaemin’s legs are cold through his thin sweatpants, and he shoves his freezing fingers into his pockets as he approaches the railing and traces his eyes over the outline of the city around him. 

It’s beautiful, because it always is. There aren’t many stars, but the ones Jaemin finds tucked between the gentle folds of the dark canvas shine with such a comforting light, it’s as if the entire sky was lit up with a warm glow. 

He can’t seem to spot the moon either, so instead he just ends up dropping his eyes to dance over the buildings that rise up around him, reflecting the colors of the city in their empty glass-paned windows. 

Jaemin’s burning eyes slide shut, and he finds a little relief as he presses his body against the cold metal of the railing and just _feels._

A deep inhale; he forces his thoughts down, forces himself to focus on the hint of smoke that rests on his tongue, the contrasting crisp breeze that ruffles his dried, white hair. 

And a deep exhale; he breathes out through his nose, slowly, and he listens this time. The sounds of late-night traffic, buzzing vehicles and cars honking and faint music and mindless conversations and laughter. Jaemin takes it all in, and he tries to remember everything. 

He tries to imprint this moment in his mind, to preserve it, and he briefly wonders how much of what he feels now, he would be able to capture with a camera. He toys with the idea of heading back to his room to bring it up, but he discounts the thought. His legs are too tired and maybe he just wants to keep this moment to himself. 

Jaemin isn’t sure how much later it is when he moves from the railing to lie on the cold, hard tile. After making sure all the tabs on his phone were closed, he purposely left it in the living room just so he wouldn’t be able to check anything on his little trip to the roof. 

His lower back aches against the floor, and the angle of his neck is awkward, so he moves to lie curled onto his side instead, resting his cheek on his folded arm. 

Jaemin feels almost surprisingly calm, serene; his mind blissfully blank. 

There’s the nagging thought that tickles the back of his mind, telling him that he should go to his bed, that his body is only going to ache even more in the morning. 

But he’s comfortable in a way that’s not even possible in the stifling dorms, and he forces his mind to just shut off. 

Some time later, he falls asleep with the city singing him a gentle lullaby of sweet dreams and happily ever afters.


	2. some days are worse

“What the fuck are you even doing here?” 

Jaemin groans, tucking his face against his arm to block out the brightness that burns his eyelids. 

Vaguely, he registers the sound of footsteps- sharp, clicking noises resonating against the tiled floor as the person comes a little closer. Heavy, huffing breaths, and a loud sigh as the footsteps stop somewhere close to his head. 

Jaemin knows that he _should_ get up, but the sun is so warm against his body, heating up his clothes like a comfortable blanket against the gentle morning chill. 

“We’ve been looking for you forever. Jisung is freaking out; you guys were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.” Jaemin’s eyes fly open in response, only to immediately squint against the brightness as he pushes himself to sit up, muscles aching in protest. 

Rolling his neck around to try to ease the pain that shoots up the side, Jaemin raises his eyes to the figure standing next to him. 

Jeno stares back, dark eyes wide and concerned and lips pulled down in a slight frown. The sunlight glints against his frame, almost like a halo shrouding him in a glow that’s testimony to his goodness. Jaemin thinks that he can stare at him forever- trace his eyes over the sharp line of his nose, his dark, arched eyebrows, and the soft curve of his jaw. 

He wants to take a picture of him, in that moment, with the strands of his messy, deep blue hair framing his face and with his chest still heaving from running about looking for him. Instead, Jaemin just blinks back at him, eyes prickling with exhaustion, and too fatigued to move. 

“Come on!” Jeno raises his voice a little, but it’s too worried to be shouting. Still, Jaemin’s heart clenches as his mind finally clears a little from its bleary state. They had been looking for him, they had been worried about him. 

And Jisung, _fuck_ , Jaemin really messed up. 

So he presses his hands flat against the warmed tiles to pull himself up, legs cramping so bad that he almost falls over and Jeno has to grab onto his forearm to steady him. 

“Jaem, are you okay?” he mumbles, grip tightening on Jaemin’s arm as he leans a little closer. Jaemin’s heart thumps in his ears as his legs tremble, unsteady from his sudden movement. He’s so exhausted it makes him dizzy; he just wants to curl back onto the hard, sun-soaked ground and fall asleep again. 

There’s a stifling lump in his throat, and he feels a tell-tale squeezing in his chest that makes tears burn in his eyes. 

But he’s fine, he’s _fine._

“I’m fine,” he shoves Jeno off his arm as gently as possible, but for some reason, Jaemin doesn’t think that he believes him, if only judging by the way he feels Jeno’s concerned eyes trailing his figure as he limps to the elevators to head down. 

.

The car ride is uncomfortable and almost painfully tense. 

Jisung sits in front of him, resolutely staring forward, but Jaemin hadn’t missed the way he’d been about to say something when he had entered, only to snap his mouth shut as his eyes travelled over him. 

Jaemin knows these past couple months have been hard on Jisung, especially with his injury; and after barely getting any lines in part 1 of their comeback, he had been almost desperate to prove his worth for the next half. 

Guilt sours his mouth, and it burns all the way down his throat when he swallows. 

Because this is Jisung, _his Jisung,_ and Jaemin knows how much this comeback means to him. And sure, them arriving late isn’t _that_ big of a deal, but Jisung was trying to keep a spotless track record, and it’s nothing but Jaemin’s fault that he’s late now. 

And he honestly _is_ going to apologize to him; he's already leaning forward in his seat and tapping against his shoulder, the soft material of Jisung's cardigan ghosting over the tips of his fingers. 

But by the time Jisung turns around to face him, lips pursed into a thin line but eyes soft and gentle with concern, the driver has pulled to a jerking stop and Jisung practically jumps out of the van to head up to the recording rooms, leaving Jaemin painfully alone and with the apology filling the empty air instead.

Jaemin greets the other members as he enters a couple minutes later, but they barely pay him any mind as he bows at the door and mumbles a quiet, "good morning," voice cracking and hoarse.

Although he feels slightly perturbed at the lack of attention, he's secretly grateful that no one seems to notice his disheveled state. He hadn't had time to do anything before they left; he'd just grabbed his bag and stumbled into the waiting van.

His muscles ache from the awkward position he slept in last night- a throbbing in his lower back that stretches as far as it can reach, circling up to his shoulders until his entire back aches with the sharp, shooting pain. His fingers twitch almost by instinct, reaching out to his bag for some painkillers. 

It’s only then that he remembers that the bottle had finished yesterday after being passed around from member to member at a full-group dance practice, where everyone seemed to claim a different ache. Jaemin swallows down the pain, stretching his back a little in the hope that it would ease. 

It doesn’t. 

The studio room is always dim, with recessed lighting spaced out as the orange light falls from the bulbs, gentle enough to set a warm ambience but still bright enough to demand their focus and dedication. 

Jisung's voice is muffled over the speakers from his pacing about the little booth as he warms up before starting to record. A high-pitched laugh filters over him, and Jaemin glances through the door frame to peer in at the makeshift eating area, where Ten and Johnny seem to be engrossed in an exciting conversation.

Jaemin feels the corners of his lips pulling ever so gently into a smile as he looks at them- Ten sitting with his legs draped over Johnny’s thighs as the other man squeezes his calves and traces his fingers between the white stripes running along the side of his sweatpants.

Jaemin drops his eyes when Ten leans forward to offer Johnny some of his drink, despite another identical one sitting unattended and still half-filled in a ring of condensation on the table. 

Almost unconsciously, Jaemin’s teeth drag along the skin of his lower lip, trapping the chapped skin and pulling until it stings a little. It’s a habit, one the stylists have tried to force him to stop hundreds of times, but somehow, it always manages to persist. 

Scanning his eyes over the rest of the room, he spots Hendery with his feet tucked under him on the couch, his head resting against the wall behind him and lips unconsciously singing along with the lyrics that echo through the room. Even standing at the door, Jaemin can see the deep bags drawn under his eyes, and he feels his own mouth tugging into a yawn as the other boy brings a hand to his mouth to cover his. 

Jungwoo is at the table, his focus undivided from the lyric sheet clutched tight in his grip as he sings the same line over and over again, voice soft but insistent as he tries to get the rhythming perfect. Jaemin recognizes the tune; it’s the same part that was giving him some trouble last time, and that line had been stuck in Jaemin’s head for a couple days after. 

It takes him a while to spot Yuta, but his eyes eventually fall on his form bundled under a mound of blankets and sprawled on the couch opposite Hendery. It must be comfortable, especially with the gentle chill seeping through the room that makes Jaemin shiver in his thin t-shirt. Maybe Yuta had already finished his piece earlier and was just catching up on some much-needed rest. 

These days, it was more common to find the members sleeping while out on schedules than back at home. Jaemin sighs, dragging his eyes back to rest at his feet, where the untied laces of his sneakers stare back up at him. 

Since Jisung has just started recording, Jaemin figures that he must have enough time before it's his turn. His fingers tuck the strap of his bag back onto his shoulder safely and he heads back through the door and straight to the bathroom instead, head bent and mask pulled to cover his face. 

He just really needs to brush his teeth and change his clothes, and maybe neaten his hair a little too. Even if instances like this are few and far between, he always packs his bag with extra supplies, just in case. 

It doesn’t take Jaemin that long to freshen up, and he discounts the idea of taking a bath in one of the shower stalls. His skin is sticky and he feels uncomfortable, but right after recording, they’re heading to another bout of dance practice so it just doesn’t make sense. And besides, he doesn’t shower in the studio unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

So Jaemin settles on simply changing his clothes, wiping his body a little with a wet rag to ease the discomfort, but it doesn’t help much. 

Jisung is still in the booth by the time he gets back, so he plops himself onto one of the chairs and drops his backpack at his feet. The plastic is hard beneath him, and he presses his back against the wall as he allows the coldness to seep through his sweater to soak onto his skin. 

His eyes slide shut at the soft whisper of voices and the steady rhythm of the beat over the speakers. It’s comforting, and his exhaustion makes him almost certain that he could just fall asleep right there. 

But Jungwoo’s voice cuts harshly over the gentle buzz; he still hasn’t given up on nitpicking his lines and he repeats the same words over and over like a mantra in Jaemin’s head. He gets frustrated quickly, and Jaemin’s eyes pull open as he bends forward, fingers scraping around in his backpack until they close around his airpods and he wordlessly slips them on. 

They’re cold, and Jaemin winces and bundles himself in his big sweater to stop his shivering. A random song plays through them, and it’s an almost automatic response to having his phone clutched in his grip, but a couple seconds later, he finds himself logging onto his instagram account again to check his analytics.

He hadn’t checked it since last night; that must have been a couple hours already. Maybe someone had stumbled across his account and had liked his photos enough just to leave some feedback. Jaemin knows he’s setting himself up to be hurt again, but still, he ignores that thought and his fingers don’t even tremble as he clicks on the link. 

And it’s just one more like, not even on his latest post, but honestly, what did he expect? 

Jaemin’s fingers pull through his hair, curling the ends of the strands between them so he can tug at his scalp as he thinks. It hurts a little; his hair and scalp are beyond damaged from the repeated dying; but even still, he can’t bring himself to stop. It helps to calm his nerves as the thoughts bombard him, even just a little bit. 

One thought remains prominent in his mind, spearing through the legions of others that fight for his attention, forcing him to acknowledge its presence. Maybe he should delete the new post altogether. 

Initially, he remembers how he’d loved the way the orange of the sun clashed with the dark blue that slowly crept in, but looking back on it now, it doesn’t seem to suit his taste anymore. It’s too messy, the lines too harsh and jagged, the colours too deep. 

He doesn’t like it, and not even a second later, he finds his thumb hovering over the delete button on the image. But if he deletes this one, then he’ll only have three other posts on his account. And maybe, _just maybe,_ there’s a part of Jaemin that wants to keep the photo, even if he may not like it as much anymore.

He’d worked hard on it- finally deciding on that single image from the hundreds he’d taken, then editing for hours more before he was satisfied with the result. His heart thuds harshly against his ribcage, and a dull ache spreads through his skull as he sighs, loud and heavy, into the air. 

Closing the tabs and shutting his phone off, he raises the volume of the music on his headphones until it’s loud enough to scream over every other thought raging through his skull. Maybe like this, he can manage to distract himself from the pain. His eyes fall shut as he pulls his feet under him, curling into himself as he tries to lose himself in the music. 

Jaemin doesn't even realize that he's fallen asleep until he's woken up by Hendery some time later. The boy shakes his shoulders almost roughly, but when Jaemin's heavy eyes finally slide open, Hendery bursts into a blinding smile in return. His voice wavers with laughter when Jaemin pulls out his airpods to hear what he's saying.

"Dude, I've _been telling you_. It's your turn to record."

Jaemin's heart drops to the pit of his stomach instantly as his bleary mind tries to catch up on what's happening. They're waiting on him, _again_ , and despite Hendery's bright smile, Jaemin can tell from the way his eyes widen just a little as he remains at his side, that he's worried about him.

And Jaemin feels guilty, because _again_ , all he's doing is messing up and being late and not pulling his weight, but instead of getting angry with him, everyone just seems to be following him around with their worried stares and trying to chase away his fears with their gentle words. 

But it doesn't make sense.

They _should_ be angry with him, and Jaemin knows that everyone is too exhausted to care at this point, but still, not even the managers have said anything about him fucking everything up. Normally, they just pull certain members aside and have a 'motivational' talk with them, but this time, there's not even that.

Maybe they've given up on him for now; maybe they're more concerned with making sure everything doesn't completely fall apart in what could be the biggest comeback of their careers. Jaemin would be a fool to think they haven't noticed the change in him; he's been late to more schedules in the past month than ever before, and even his fanservice and participation in videos and vlives haven't been up to par.

" _Jae-min_ ," Hendery sings next to his ear to shake him from his thoughts, poking his upper arm with his pointed index finger as he enunciates the syllables. Jaemin rubs at the spot as he shoots up, grabbing onto the table when he realizes his feet are trapped between the straps of his backpack.

"You alright?" Hendery asks again, and Jaemin has a moment of deja-vu when he's reminded of Jeno not a couple hours ago, asking him the same question in an identical tone, and mirrored eyes. So Jaemin gives him the same answer he gave Jeno, and the lie comes so easy it might as well be the truth.

"I'm fine," he mutters, pushing past Hendery and shoving the guilt down, burying it under the pretense that the lie would just make things easier for everyone. Jaemin almost believes it.

His head throbs as he walks into the booth, calling a greeting to the directors with a raspy voice that makes it painfully obvious he had been sleeping. A wave of cool air washes over him as he stumbles blearily into the recording room, and it helps to wake him up just a little.

"Drink some water before we start, Jaemin," is the first thing he hears when he slides on the headphones, and his stomach flips at the disapproving tone in the director's voice. His cheeks heat up as he grabs a bottle from the stack, relishing the feeling as the cool liquid races down his throat.

They're recording _work it_ today, brushing up on some final touches to make sure everything flows properly. The last recording day hadn't been the best, and it ended with Jaemin promising the director to practice the part he was having difficulty with, so he could try again the next time. 

Except he didn’t. 

He hadn't forgotten, exactly. The thought was always there, nagging at the back of his mind and reminding him that he had to get it done. But he just couldn't find the will to search his backpack for the lyric sheet and rehearse his lines until he got it right. Instead, he'd lain on his bed, scrolling through twitter even as the screaming thoughts begged him to stop.

A part of him knew he would regret it, but still, Jaemin just never ended up getting it done, and somehow, he’s just back in the booth without having rehearsed the lyrics at all since the last time.

So when the producer cuts him across a couple minutes later, voice sharp and edged with piercing disappointment, Jaemin knows better than to be surprised. He takes the criticism harshly- he always does- except this time he knows that he deserves it, because it’s nothing but his own fault. 

“We’ll try one more time,” the producer finally decides, but Jaemin already knows it will be worse than all the others with the way his throat is constricting, and the tears burn at the corners of his eyes.

Still, he starts his part of the verse, voice shaking and weak, and Jaemin finds his nails scratching against the skin at the back of his palm as he tries to steady his voice. By the time he’s finished, the skin is drawn over with red streaks and little lines of blood, but as he raises his eyes to the glass partition separating the rooms, the producer just gives him a single, curt nod, and somehow, it manages to be worth it.

It has to be. 

.

Almost surprisingly, dance practice is worse than the recording. 

The first time Jaemin messes up, the instructor shoots him a glare, and he feels his cheeks burning in shame as he calls for them to start over from the beginning, voice mocking. The second time Jaemin loses his footing and falls to the floor, he hears Yuta letting out a harsh huff as he pulls himself up. The other members suddenly seem unable to meet his eyes, and Jaemin chews on his lip until it’s raw and throbbing almost as bad as the pain shooting through his ankle. 

But the third time Jaemin drops out of their perfectly synchronized rhythm, he does it on purpose and he doesn’t care anymore. There’s a pain searing through his skull and his legs are so weak and there are reddened crescents pressed onto the flesh of his palm and everywhere just hurts so fucking much.

So he lets himself get yelled at, and Jaemin’s heart soars with some kind of pathetic, messed up thrill that someone is finally mad at him. That someone is acknowledging that he’s not pulling his part, that he’s the one keeping everyone back, and Jaemin thinks for a moment that maybe this would be some kind of catalyst for him to get his shit together. 

He scoffs at himself, and he knows better than to believe it. 

“From the top,” the instructor calls, and the only thing Jaemin can do is obey, even as he feels his muscles giving way, cramping with exhaustion and so, so _weak_. They only do one more run before they get a break, and Jaemin just drops right onto the floor where he was standing, flopping onto his belly and turning his face to the side so he can rest his cheek on his folded arms. 

There’s the mirror right in his line of sight, and Jaemin finds his eyes locking with his reflection’s own as the groans and laughter around him fade into the background. He barely recognizes the person that stares back at him, with dark, sunken pits under his eyes, washed-out strands of hair sticking up over his folded arms, and lips pulled into a deep frown. 

But it’s become easy, practically routine to cover the dark circles with enough layers of concealer so that it would look like they’d never been there in the first place. And it just takes some fresh dye and countless chemicals seeping against his hair to make the strands look rejuvenated. Even his lips- Jaemin has perfected the art of fake smiling. It would be a waste if he hadn’t, after practicing for years and years; tilting his lips at just the right angle, and crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

It’s always been hard for Jaemin to force the gentle glint in his eyes- his playful, mischievous glow. He used to envy Mark back when they were younger and somehow he just managed to carry the weight of debuting three times over and never lose the kindness warming his eyes when he’d looked at any of them. 

And Jaemin used to look at Chenle’s smile, and it would be so easy to tell when it was faked because his real smile was just filled with so much raw happiness that it made his entire face light up. Jaemin used to want to smile like that. 

And Jeno, with his trademark eye smile that makes everyone weak for him, especially Jaemin. And Haechan with his contagious laughter and spirited personality that always manages to cheer them up. And Jisung with his cute, gummy smile and eyes that pull into little crescents. 

And _fuck,_ Renjun’s eyes; Jaemin could just get so hopelessly lost in them. He remembers once, years ago when he’d been on hiatus for his injury and he used to look at every single video they posted to keep updated, even if the members contacted him every so often. He remembers Renjun saying that he wished that he could be as happy as Chenle, and Jaemin’s heart had throbbed so hard against his ribcage that it _hurt_.

Because they were so young and lost and Jaemin had wanted so much back then, but all Renjun had asked for was happiness. But as they’d grown up, somehow Renjun managed to find what he wanted; he searched and fought until he got exactly what he dreamt about. He always did. 

But instead, Jaemin had accustomed himself to being disappointed. He’d simply allowed himself to give in and accept things as they happened, rather than fight for what he wanted. Maybe he was too afraid of trying and still failing, or maybe it was because he’d learnt his lesson after all the broken promises he’d made with himself to get better. Maybe things were just meant to stay this way. 

Jaemin’s throat presses uncomfortably against his folded arms when he swallows, and he lifts his head to turn it over, resting his other cheek on his arms instead, as his eyelids drop. All of a sudden, he doesn’t want to look at his reflection anymore.

There’s a loud thud close to his head, and Jaemin’s eyes fly open to see a bottle of water staring back at him, dripping condensation onto the floor. 

“Drink, Hyung. The break will be over soon.” And Jaemin looks up to see Jisung, who after a moment’s pause lowers himself to sit next to him. Jaemin can see the way his face contorts in a grimace as his knee pulls into another angle, but he’s already sitting by the time Jaemin lifts himself off the ground to get him to stop. 

So instead, he just plucks the bottle from the floor and his mind clears a little as the sharp coldness of the bottle seeps against his palm. 

“Thanks, Jisung,” he mumbles, and the other boy only smiles back at him as Hendery joins them, lying on the floor and dropping his head onto Jisung’s crossed legs. And Hendery complains about how hard the moves are, and Jisung tells him that even still, he would have preferred to be able to dance with them than just sitting through practice and occasionally joining in when he just can’t resist it anymore. 

And Jisung trails his fingers through Hendery’s hair as they chatter mindlessly, and all Jaemin can think is how lucky he is to have them. Of how _good_ Jisung is, how pure his heart is. Jisung had always been so easily forgiving, and Jaemin remembers that morning when he was late, but he can tell from Jisung’s smile that the other boy has already forgotten all about it. 

“Jaem, are you listening?” Hendery calls him from his thoughts, and he continues as Jaemin splutters as he tries to figure out what they were talking about even though he wasn’t listening. 

“Did you not get enough sleep last night or something? You’ve been out of it all day.” 

Hendery nibbles on his lip as he pulls himself off Jisung’s lap, grabbing his own bottle to gulp down some water as he keeps his eyes on Jaemin, awaiting his response.

“Wait,” Jisung interrupts, just as Jaemin is about to tell him that he probably should have slept some more and quickly change the topic. 

“You didn’t come back to our room last night; you weren’t there when I got up. Did you sleep at all?”

Jaemin feels his cheeks heating up as both of their concerned gazes fall on him, and the attention makes him so uncomfortable that all his thoughts muddle together in his mind and he can’t seem to come up with a single coherent answer. 

Luckily, or unluckily, that’s when the instructor calls them to resume practice, and their conversation is forgotten amidst the blurry haze of repeated dance moves and aching, sore muscles.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/mint_choco_17)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/mint_choco_icecream)


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